


Sherlollipops - My Bloody Valentine, or Love in the Time of Zombies

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [130]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Sherlolly - Freeform, Walking Dead AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5999419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sherlolly Walking Dead AU. Sherlock picks the worst times to show Molly how he feels about her, but sometimes there IS no 'good time'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - My Bloody Valentine, or Love in the Time of Zombies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daisherz365](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisherz365/gifts).



> This is for daisherz365, a fellow caryl and sherlolly shipper. Much love!

A Sherlolly Walking Dead AU drabble for [@sincerelydayyy](http://tmblr.co/mxmCy-oCNxMfVyI6wSmcogA)

The UK was luckier than some places; being an island, there was a limit to the number of Walkers, even with newly infected taken into account. It was probably - no, strike that, _definitely_ \- going to be worse on larger landmasses like Europe and Asia and the Americas. Any survivors who didn’t find an island of their own were most likely doomed to being overrun by large herds of the undead roaming in their ceaseless hunt for sustenance.

As Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper raced frantically across the rooftops of London in a desperate attempt to meet the helicopter Mycroft had sent to extract his brother and the pathologist who’d saved him from becoming Walker food, they certainly weren’t reflecting on how ‘lucky’ the UK had been. All either of them was thinking about was ways to speed up their journey whilst simultaneously avoiding the thousands of Walkers aimlessly roaming the streets below them.

As they reached the end of the row of rooftops they’d been traversing, Molly bent and put her hands on her knees, panting hard. Her face was red, her hair was a snarled mess, her clothes were filthy and her fingernails were a broken, bitten mess.

Sherlock glanced over at her, and all he could think was that she’d never been more beautiful to him. Was it too late to tell her how he felt?

_No,_ he resolved as he returned his attention to gauging how best to reach the next series of rooftops without descending to street level and risking catching the attention of London’s undead population. 

Having quickly sorted out their next move (laying several discarded PVC pipes across the narrow distance and carefully crawling across them after lashing them together with some cabling he saw near the other discarded bits and bobs from an unfinished construction project), he turned back to Molly. She’d straightened and was futilely trying to unsnarl her hair enough to be able to twist it into a braid. “Don’t bother, Molly, it’ll just come out again in a few minutes,” he advised her. “Just tuck it into the back of your shirt before we start crossing to the next building.”

“How are we going to manage that?” she asked patiently. Oh yes, he should probably explain the plan to her, but first…he glanced around to make sure the rooftop they occupied was still safe; having ascertained to his satisfaction that it was, he pulled Molly into his arms and kissed her.  


“Sherlock!” she gasped when the kiss ended. “What are you…”  


“Showing you how I feel,” he said quickly. “Before it’s too…before we meet up with the others,” he amended. “Mycroft will no doubt disapprove, but my parents will be thrilled, not to mention John and Mary.”  


“O-okay,” was all Molly could manage. Of all the curves life had thrown her in the past few months, this one was the most unexpected. However, it was also the most welcome, and her discombobulation quickly turned to bliss. She grasped his head with both hands and pulled him down for a second kiss, allowing it to linger and deepen in spite of the deadline (no pun intended) they were currently facing.  


Once that kiss ended, with both of them a bit flushed and breathless, Sherlock explained the plan to her. They quickly put it into action and made it onto the next rooftop. As they started to race across the hot cement surface, Molly cried out in dismay and came to a stop, groping at her waist for the pistol Sherlock had taught her how to use in the first weeks of the chaos of the fall of London. He kept moving in spite of the sight that had stopped her, swinging the tyre iron he carried with deadly force and smacking the head right off the first Walker to reach him. Molly managed a kill shot on the second one, but her next shot went wild and the other undead construction worker continued to shamble forward. Sherlock got that one as well, but the delay cost them dearly; the sun was already setting and there was no way they’d make it to the rendezvous point before the helicopter was forced to abandon them.

Sherlock must have come to the same conclusion; he looked over at her grimly, then dropped the tyre iron and strode determinedly to her side. “If this is it, Molly Hooper, I’m not going out without telling you how I feel, damn it.” Taking a deep breath, he began to speak. “We’ve known each other a long time, and during that time I’ve been a complete ass, all in the name of not being distracted from The Work. Well, that’s finished now, and all we have left is survival. You and me, Molly Hooper, we work so very well together, in the lab and on a bloody rooftop in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.”

Molly was staring at him with her hand over her mouth, clearly choking back tears of joy as she anticipated his next words. “With all that in mind, Molly,” he continued, staring deeply into her brown eyes, “I just want you to know that I…”

“Jesus, Sherlock, only you could be so bloody long-winded about a declaration of love!” a long-missed - and very familiar - voice rang out from across the roof.  


Molly and Sherlock both whirled around and stared in disbelief at the sight that met their eyes: John Watson standing on the parapet next to Greg Lestrade, the pair of them grinning at them like a couple of loons. “Well, don’t just stand their, you great idiot,” Greg called out, adding his own advice to John’s words. “Tell her you love her and kiss the girl! We’ve got a helicopter waiting and your brother isn’t exactly the most patient man on the planet!”

“What are you…how did you…” Molly couldn’t quite get the questions out, but she was so happy to see their two friends that she couldn’t even muster the embarrassment she knew she’d otherwise be feeling. She was grinning just as broadly as they were, but then her heart sank a bit as she turned to face Sherlock.   


He wasn’t grinning. He wasn’t scowling, either; his expression was impossible for her to read. _So much for a declaration of love or more kisses,_ she thought in resignation. Now that rescue wasn’t just an abstract concept, he was probably regretting his actions of a few moments ago. Ah well, she should have known it was too good to last…

She gasped as Sherlock pulled her back into his arms, dipped her back dramatically, and proceeded to snog her senseless. When he pulled her back to her original upright position, gasping and staring at him, he smiled. “I love you, Molly Hooper,” he said softly, too softly for their audience to hear him. “And just because John and Gavin have terrible timing doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about it. Oh, and by the way - Happy Valentine’s Day, Molly.”

Then he took her hand and they ran across the remaining distance separating them from their friends, the four of them laughing with the pure joy of living. Ten minutes later they were safely aboard the helicopter and winging their way to the Isle of Wight, excitedly exchanging tales of their trials and tribulations since they’d been torn apart all those months ago.

And all the while, Sherlock held tightly to Molly’s hand, a silent promise never to let her go.


End file.
